To Care, To Cry, To Carry On
by Sakata-Bluemoon
Summary: Cursed by Smaug the dwarves return to the one place they felt most secure during their journey, the home of one Bilbo Baggins. Hilarity is the basis for much of their interactions, before the incident and after. Its slow burn, its Bagginshield, its twisted and strange. Read at your own risk.


**To Care, To Cry, To Carry On**

**::Sakata Bluemoon::**

Hobbits by nature desire little more than a comfortable place to rest, good food and a garden to potter about in when the days grow warm and the skies glow blue, painted on in water colour with dapples of clouds slowly roving through.  
A desirable quality of a Hobbit is to have a rounded belly and be 'soft' - not fat just pleasantly plump - as it meant they could cook well enough for themselves and any family they were to have in the future; and family they would have. Hobbit Holes would always cater to immediate family which could be six children (as a minimum), their parents and, in the case of the eldest sons, the grandparents as well once they'd reached their final years. Every Hobbit desired to have a large family, it was instinctual, remain safe in their little Hobbit Hole and enjoy the basic pleasures of life. They are not a complex species, being rather peaceful and comfortable in their ancestral home.  
Bilbo Baggins, however, also desired to see what was beyond the soft rolling hills of the Shire, an adventurous spirit trapped within the conformities of a people destined to grow pot bellies and the most exciting thing in their day being what plant they desired to smoke that evening. Bilbo wished to meet elves, find buried treasure, fight dragons and hear tales of the road told around a flickering campfire with life-long companions. But it was not to be, these being the childish desires of a young one encouraged by the Took blood boiling in his veins and the excitable words of his mother.  
His father didn't discourage per-say, but he didn't overtly comment on the happenings around the house.  
After she had passed Bilbo realised he'd never leave Bag End, nor would he meet elves, fight dragons or discover treasure. So at the age of thirty-three he settled into his hobbit hole within the Shire and only ever dreamed of adventure when he was telling old stories or staring at the imposing shadow of the Lonely Mountain which filled the Southern sky-line like an ancient warrior guarding the humble life-style of the Hobbits.  
Our story beings, where all stories should, with a hole. Not a Hobbit hole, no, this hole was decidedly less comfortable and filled with icky, oozy slime which covered the once clean jacket of one Bilbo Baggins. The disgruntled Hobbit glared at the rim of the well where a spotted deer stag stood peeking over the edge, antlers giving away his position.  
"Blasted thing," Bilbo hissed under his breath glaring harder at the stag, "don't just stand there Winsome! Fetch a rope! It is entirely your fault I'm in this situation!" He shrieked, which wasn't the total truth as the stag had merely startled him, it was his own feet which tripped him up, sending him tumbling into the old well. Winsome tossed his head releasing a short sharp bleat, before prancing off, leaving his aggravated owner down the well. "Where are you going!? WINSOME! COME BACK!"  
Irate, uncomfortable, and starting to smell like a stagnant pond, Bilbo flopped ungracefully onto a protruding rock, intent on waiting until someone came through so he could get out.  
Later he'd wish he'd been rescued by someone, anyone, else.  
After Winsome deserted him, Bilbo spent the rest of the day moping about in the small space of the well. There wasn't really much else to be done during his waiting, although it gave him a perfect opportunity to test his knowledge of fungus types. It wasn't long till night fall when he heard it, the sound of leaf litter being crushed under boots. Even if it wasn't a Hobbit coming his way Bilbo was quite ready to get the hell out of this well.  
"Hello!" He called to the surface, holding his breath as his slightly pointed ears twitched under the strain of listening for a reply. The person stopped, turned, and started heading in his direction.  
"Hello?" They called back, the voice like stones grinding together.  
"Oh thank Mahal! Please I need your help!" Further shuffling and suddenly a bald head appeared over the top of the well.  
Icy eyes glared down into the darkness from beneath thick brown eyebrows, furrowed so that they met in the middle in a complementary scowl. Silver glinted from rounded ears partially covered by the tufts of chestnut which grew across the face of his rescuer. The stranger grunted before pulling back out of sight, fear settling itself in the depths of Bilbo's gut as he watched them pull away. He would not spent a night down a well, that was just - eww.  
Three things happened in the such quick succession Bilbo barely had time to register what was occurring, firstly the stranger vaulted over the edge of the well, secondly a great hammer dropped down and finally Bilbo was harshly pulled free of the well by said hammer.  
Thoroughly confused but none the less grateful the Hobbit scurried to his feet to attempt to remove the worst of the scum which had collected upon his person. With a grunt his rescuer pulled himself back onto the correct side of the well, shifting the battle hammer to his shoulder he straightened up, towering over Bilbo like a bear would a rabbit.  
Considerably nervous now Bilbo attempted to stutter out his thanks, but a sudden slap to the back was all he received as the bear - dwarf his mind helpfully supplied - plodded off on his way once more.  
"Ah - thank you!" Bilbo hollered after the steadily diminishing figure his senses finally returning to him, he received no reply but that didn't really concern him - he was going to find that ditzy deer and give it a piece of his mind.

TBC...


End file.
